We Killed Columbia
by FantasyBalance
Summary: AU A twenty year-old Booker DeWitt and a young Elizabeth soon find themselves in a predicament of cosmic proportions when dimension hopping powers aren't all they were cracked up to be. Booker/Elizabeth with lots of adventure and lots of potential romance.
1. Chapter 1

There were a lot of rules that I learned while in Columbia. The first was that you shouldn't trust a person more than you could shoot them. While I didn't much care for this rule myself, it was something my father made sure I would never forget. Which made sense, considering that he owned a gun shop himself. People are rarely against the thing which wins them bread.

The second was that no matter how great you think you are, chances were that there was someone that was much greater. I am constantly reminded of this everyday I see depictions of Christ throughout our great city. No matter what you do in life, you're not going to be better than Jesus or God. They are at the top of the heap.

And three, no matter how great someone looks on the surface, they all bleed blood. Another lesson that my dad taught, but this one was actually useful. It taught me that no matter how incredible something might seem at first glance, it is still going to be filled with faults.

Even as a young boy, I knew that there was something fishy in the air of Columbia. Behind the American flags and the Christian crosses, there was something foul beneath the surface. Maybe it was the fact that everyone looked the same or that you couldn't actually speak your mind without first washing your mouth, but Columbia was far from a perfect place.

Perhaps I should introduce myself before this long-running monologue becomes too much for us all to bare.

My name is Booker DeWitt, and I'm not a person of particular interest. Like a lot of people, I went through my day without giving much thought to what kept my city afloat. The copple stones I had tread on each day had to have been manufactured and embedded in the street somehow. Behind every creation there was a group of men with a singular vision. And when great men who think alike come together, the vision is unifying.

Unless of course your vision doesn't quite line-up with your fellow Bible thumpers.

My fondest memory in the past was when I was a boy and I went to mass. There were hundreds of people all jammed together in one little building, all singing praises to the same omnipotent God. And there I was, practically forced to say the same hymns without once vocalizing my objections.

Why do we sing to God? If God existed then why were much of the white folks rich and the blacks poor? Why was my family able to do so well by selling firearms, yet the man across the way who sold rare books from beyond Columbia's walls got kicked from his place of business?

Perhaps I should explain what I mean by off-land. You see, the city of Columbia actually floats above the Earth. We are a portion of America which had separated from the Union. From my understanding, it had something to do with the fact that the old America had become filled with heathens and that the old virtuous ways had been lost in the dirt.

They don't teach you a whole lot about that subject in school. Why there was a rebellion. Why we chose to come up to the skies. I knew that America as we had known it couldn't be pure evil. There had to be something more to that story. There usually is.

But anyways, the city. The city which I now found my twenty-year old self was about as over-the-top joyous as you could imagine. As you walked down the street you saw people in bright colored shirts smiling and waving at you. Women spoke of their rights in the street corners, only to be quickly interrupted by their husbands who had come with another dozen cookbooks from which they expected their supper.

I suppose I wasn't one of the types that smiled all that often. Really, I just kept to myself. Looking down to the floor, praying that someday I would be able to turn invisible so that people didn't bother to greet me.

Though I hope I don't come across as a bragger, but I was and am still to this day quite a looker. A chizzled jaw and eyes that were sharp enough to cut through anyone's defenses were my two weapons. Sadly, they almost always misfired when I was least wanted them to.

I had wished someone else could have taken my charming rogue look away. It didn't suit me at all, and though I adored women, all the amorous onlookers hadn't really interested me. All they had to offer was more of the same routine. I had seen it countless times with married men who cheat on their wives.

They have a fling, they feel guilty, and then they pray to Jesus for forgiveness. I had seen enough of it to know that I didn't want to walk that path.

For most of my days I walked the straight and narrow path of the diligent servant. Never questioning and never whining.

That was until one day, my destiny fell right into my lap.

Then I wished I could have the complacency all back.

X-X-X-X-X

I don't like writing. I can't believe Booker actually convinced me to write this, but I suppose he thinks it's important.

Let me fill you in on what I believe. I believe it is bullshit.

We had done so many awful things. More than either of us could count. I know what it is he is trying to do. He is trying to free himself from his precious guilt. The guilt that he always thinks is the thing keeping him down, when in actuality it is his only distinguishing feature other than his sharp tongue and pretty looks.

I'll dispense with pleasantries. My name is Elizabeth. Just Elizabeth. If I dispensed with my last name, there would be no pleasantry. In fact, it is very possible that I would be tracked down and killed right where I sit. In a shitty rocking chair with a thin wool blanket in another dimension, might I add.

Not Columbia, the city you had just been introduced to. We'll catch you up with that later.

My story is linked with Booker's, which is why he's making me write. But I don't do the whole novel format thing he's trying to push. Frankly, I don't think our 'adventure' really deserves that kind of glorified justice.

Instead, I'm just gonna write like I'm talking. I am talking to you right now. And if you're still listening to me, I implore you to stop. Don't give this man the satisfaction. For though I love him more than anyone will ever know, I also hate him like a tyrant.

So now that we are in the sugar and candy land which is Booker at age twenty, I suppose it would be appropriate to talk about Elizabeth age nineteen.

I worked. I worked harder than anyone I knew. I worked until my legs felt like they were going to snap like twigs. I worked until my hair was damp with my sweat and I couldn't breathe. I worked until the day 'the asshole' came into my life.

Things were actually happier before 'the asshole' arrived. If there was anything that I actually enjoyed doing, it was taking care of my mother's restaurant. A tiny little hole in the wall that no one particularly liked. But we were a proud people, and the paying customers came more for the hospitality than a bite.

Unlike 'the asshole', I was never a particularly attractive girl. I could have been if I put forth the effort. But instead, I found the luxury of fashion to be quite unbecoming when you are scrubbing the tiles in the kitchen and cleaning vomit from restroom walls.

Before I had turned eighteen, the place was a disaster. Cobwebs in the drawers and leftovers in the pans. Right from the moment I had a standing within my parent's business, I knew I was going to have to do something with the place. And who else could do it but me?

Elizabeth. Psychic girl and dimension hopper extraordinaire.

Did I mention that I have magical powers that come out of my hands? Or maybe that, like so many things I've already mentioned, are best saved for later…

X-X-X-X-X  
_Booker DeWitt. Charmer and rogue in your dreams._

There was this restaurant that I liked to drop by after I was done polishing my father's pistols. At the time, I wasn't even sure if it had a name. The sign outside had become so faded with time that it was difficult to make out the brass lettering. It almost looked like it had been in Columbia since the founding.

The family who ran the establishment was probably the nicest people that you could ever meet, or so I had thought upon first impressions. They were really quick on their feet and always found kind words to greet their paying customers with. But it wasn't like the people on the street who wanted you to listen to the book of Exodus. I actually genuinely believed these people liked customers, and not just as walking money bags.

There were never a whole lot of business in the place, which was perfect for a young man of my inclinations. If I really wanted to get away from the pretty blue eyes of a group of blondes, I could always dive into the place and disappear like a puff of smoke.

As I recall, all of the dishes available tasted like a flavorless paste. Not particularly unpleasant, but certainly nothing that you would recommend to friends or loved ones. The atmosphere wasn't much better, though it reminded me of another of my father's famous lessons.

'There is no use in cleaning horse shit if it's just gonna be horse shit.'

It was something like that. He was an eccentric man.

The father and mother of the family busied themselves with taking orders and finding new ways to create flavorless paste. They were all very wiry and skinny with raven black hair. I think between the two parents and the daughter, they might have weighed 330 pounds between the lot of them. Give that a good hard think.

This is the part in my story where I'm going to get a little sappy, as young men are frequently drawn to such expressions. But another reason why I ducked into the place was that the parents knew me. And I figured if the parents knew me, then maybe someday I would get a few good words with the daughter.

I would always order a bowl of soup, and while I sipped away at it I would slip glances over at her from my table. Sadly, there were a few times when she had noticed me, and shot me a glance that would stop my heart in its tracks.

She wasn't really much to look at. She was ungodly skinny and there was a part of me that just wanted to give her a good long shower. From head to toe there always seemed to be some sort of smut or grime on her person.

Despite the fact that this daughter scrubbed and cleaned for hours on end, she didn't seem to gain much admiration from the folks which had given birth to her. In fact, they almost seemed to ignore her. Like she was just a tool that helped keep their business running.

One fateful day, it was just the two of us. I had no idea where her parents had gone off to or if they were coming back, but the air between us was rather tense. As she shuffled about the kitchen, I ordered my usual. For once, it didn't taste like paste.

"What did you put in here?" I didn't ask the question quite as politely as I could have. In fact, it may have come off as a little too enthusiastic. 'Damn it,' I told myself. 'Now is not the time to glibber and gabber.'

"Just some spices," she replied while mopping the floor. "My mother usually delivers as is, but I always try and add something different." She didn't make eye contact with me, but I was okay with it. If she did, I might have lost all my nerve. "You're one of our only returning customers. Fancy that."

"The place doesn't reek of processed patriotism. That's certainly a start." Almost every restaurant or store that you entered in Columbia was of the same ilk. There was always an American flag somewhere. "You don't pretend to be happy to see people."

She scoffed, but I didn't think that it was at me specifically. Or at least I hoped that it wasn't at me. "We have drunks stumble in here from time to time. You can smell their breath all the way out the door. Mother says that we need to cook them something. Make something that will subdue the drink, right?" She looked up towards the door, looking straight past me. "If it were up to me, I would kick em' straight out on their drunken asses." She rolled her eyes, and returned right back to her mopping. "But as you can see, I'm not. So I'll never have the pleasure."

"I think you've got a little bit of entrepreneur in you."  
"Yeah well…" Now she was looking up at the ceiling. There was something striking about her eyes. It was as though a spirit of a different woman was trapped somewhere within her scrawny wrapper. "I don't really like discussing my hopes and dreams with strangers, Mister Whatever-Your-Name-Is." Right back to work.

"It's DeWitt. Booker DeWitt."

"Elizabeth. And just Elizabeth." I could not understand what she found so goddamn captivating about her mop. "Someday I want to find myself my own last name."

"What's wrong with the one you have?"

"Nothing. Just don't like how it sounds."

"Try me."

She looked me straight in the eyes, though it was far from the flirtatious glance that I might have liked. This girl didn't tremble because I was a looker. She didn't start quaking because my smile could melt a thousand hearts. No.

She looked at me pure unbridled fury, though her voice wouldn't let her on. "If you want to keep eating here, I suggest you keep your nose in your soup and out of my business, Mr. DeWitt." She abandoned her mop and went straight to the counter.

I for the life of me didn't understand what I had done to offend her. She was the one who had brought up her past and not me. And despite this threat, she kept on talking. "So, your name. It sounds like a soldier's. Did you ever serve?"

"No. I'm a little tender hearted. I don't think that I could ever stand killing another human being, even in self-defense."

"Sap." As I studied her motions from my table, I was starting to notice that most of her activities were drawn out and unnecessary. The counter was as clean as it was ever going to get, and I had a feeling that no tremendous spill had occurred across the floor of the kitchen.

"You think you could? A little thing like yourself."

She groaned before pulling an invisible pistol from her hip, aiming it right at me. "If a man were to threaten me or my livelihood in any way." She made a firing mouth with the side of her mouth. "I wouldn't hesitate."

I imagined a bullet going right through my heart. Those eyes that told truths signaled that she meant every word, and it was probably best not to get on her bad side. "That's kind of cold."

"When you're a woman in this world, sometimes you have to be cold." She holstered her gun and laughed. "Or a man for that matter. If you end up getting drafted, how are you going to deal with that?"

Right there, at that moment, she had tapped into one of my worst fears. That someday if the circumstances were to become grim enough, I would be pulled from my position as shopkeeper with my father and forced to become a killing machine for the government. "Columbia has never needed a draft. I doubt they'll need one in the near future."

"Oh please, don't you read history books?" For once in our entire meeting, she dropped everything that she was doing. She aimed her wells of knowledge straight at me. "We're in a city in the sky. We developed the technology and we utilized it, right? So what happens when other nations start to build their own air-bound cities? Pretty soon there will be a British version of Columbia, or a Chinese, or a Japanese, or a Russian. It doesn't matter. The point is that we won't be alone in the sky. And as soon as two large forces meet each other on any sort of level, war isn't too far behind." She actually got out from behind her counter and took a seat from across me. The move startled me, as did her intent. "So I can bet within the next ten years they are going to call upon every man and child who can hold a gun and ask them to kill in the good name of Columbia. And from that, all of our peace and quiet will crumble right from under our feet."

"You're such an optimistic lady."

"I've seen it." She peered down at the table, her thumbs seeming to wrestle with each other. "I mean, I've seen it happening. That's why I stay where I am, even when there is no work to do. Even when there's nobody left. I just cook. Because people are frightening, no matter how happy they might seem." Just as quickly as she had sat down, she was already back to her position of labor, this time scrubbing the lining of a sink with a brush.

We both sat in silence while I desperately tried to come up with some sort of follow-up to that statement. I had never seen a woman be that vocal before. I had never really known women to be anything more than tittering little birds that hovered around me like manic pixies.

So when this girl whom I had studied from afar ended up being as sharp as a tack, the minor crush grew to fascination.

I had become glued to my seat, gazing over at her. "Do you like Columbia?"

She tapped her finger against the faucet, as though testing its durability. But I knew that she was really wondering if she should test the water or not. "No. I don't particularly." She turned the faucet on, drenching the brush in the water. "I don't like that my life has just begun and already my family is pestering me about getting a husband." The brush attacked the edges of the sink, clearing out all the filth that remained. "I don't like the fact that I can't walk around at night without a fine gentleman telling me it's too dangerous and that he shall escort me to my home. I don't like that I own a gun, but it would be considered above me to practice firing on unused utensils. And worst of all, I hate that I would be disconnected from my family if I were to so much as march out of here and find some work of my own."

The brush snapped and the sink didn't look any cleaner. "My mother says that I'm unstable," she continued. "That I should be happy that I have a roof over my head and lots of eligible customers to choose from." She turned off the water. "What do you think?"

I gulped. Her edges were even sharper than I'd imagined. "I think that you're just about the most interesting woman I've ever met, Elizabeth."

"And next you'll be asking my hand in marriage. Or placing some kind of jacket over the puddle in front of me so that I don't slip."

"The puddle thing, maybe. The marriage thing…" Now was not the time to tell her that I was actually quite fond of the thought of marriage, though not specifically with her. "…Nah. Not until I'm much older. And especially not with you." I didn't want to show romantic interest for someone who clearly didn't want it. But somehow, I worried that my playful jab would rub her the wrong way.

Thankfully, she was not your ordinary woman. She smiled at me.

"I like you."

"I like the soup."

"Liar. The soup is terrible."

"Better than when your mum cooks it."

"Ha!"

We both went silent.

From that moment on, I knew that there was something special about Elizabeth.

If I had only known how much, I could have saved myself an awful lot of trouble.

x-x-x-x-x

_Elizabeth, and Just Elizabeth  
_  
Jesus christ, he was gorgeous. Every time he would come in, I would have to contain myself. I would watch my every move, making sure that I looked just like the stupid ideal handmaid I had come to despise.

But what I had said to him that day was all true. I didn't much care for the idea of marriage. I had once voiced this opinion with my mother, who then explained to me that life wasn't worth living unless I was the under the wing of a righteous and noble man.

There was a part of me that wanted to scream out that I was a lesbian right there and then. That men were the farthest thing that I ever wished to be under the wing of. Sadly, I neither had the courage nor the tenacity to execute such a lie.

And look at me now. Now I'm writing an adventure story where I'm the star! That would be a lark if it wasn't based on true events. Instead, it's all just rather depressing.

Anyways, I would always got nervous whenever Booker was around. We didn't talk much on his first couple of visits and I didn't even know his name. But there was something about him that was different. Maybe it was just the girl inside of me that couldn't help but notice that he was a peck above the rest of the men in Columbia.

Even in that moment when he insulted my mom's cooking, there was something different in the air. It was like an electricity and a fire. The sort of thing that warmed your loins and reared you for a night of passionate lovemaking.

Oh my. My mind doth wander.

Keep in mind that this was before I realized that he was 'the asshole'. That he was there to lead me down the wrong path. And that like most devils, he looked pretty when he talked. He looked pretty when he didn't talk. Hell, he just looked pretty all the time.

After he was done with his soup, he left without saying another word. It bothered me more than it should have. It felt as though we had started a conversation that could have lasted well into the evening, and yet he just cut it off like so much string.

No customers came in after that, and I was left up to my own devices. No people coming in and no people coming out meant that I didn't need to keep up appearances. I didn't need to appear busy for my own sake after all. I knew perfectly well that there was nothing that needed doing, and the soup could just simmer until someone else wanted a bite.

But the question was whenever I hit a time like this, what was I supposed to do?

Reality was always drab and boring. The walls around me were brown as shit and the floor was scuffed and old. If I were to call it quits and leave the shop unattended, all I would be greeted with was the great American dream. A dream, might I add, which didn't much care what I did with myself. Just as long as I was taking care of someone else's ambition, everything would work out and I would discover true womanly happiness.

I sighed as I crossed into the supply cabinet. It really wasn't much to look at. All of the assorted goods were beginning to pile up. Pretty soon my family wouldn't be able to pay the costs it took to keep the building. We would be on the street, like so many less fortunate families in Columbia.

When backed into a situation like this, where reality wished me to remain a slave, I found that fantasy was a far more alluring alternative.

At the time, I didn't think that opening portals to other worlds was anything different from what any other young girl would do in her time. I was on the sheltered side, and it wasn't until I had gone to school that I realized that most children didn't share my gift. And after one particularly terrible incident with a boy named Mark Stewart, I decided to keep it entirely to myself.

It may seem strange to you, but to me this was just a part of my everyday life. When no one was looking, I would open doorways to other worlds. Sometimes they would be worse than the world that I was currently in. Sometimes they would be better. Sometimes they were so fantastic that to gaze upon them was to swim in envy.

Though I had created portals throughout my life, I dared not cross into them. I knew that it was probably possible. That I could walk through the little tear in reality I had created and live my fantasies as a free woman.

But everytime I would step forward, a great shuddering force would come down upon my shoulders. I would fall to the ground, suddenly unable to pull myself back together. And moments later, the rip would fix itself and I would be stuck in reality again.

I never tried to fight back against the force that kept me complacent. I was always afraid that if I went to the other side, there might never be any going back.

On this night, it was no different.

I stood in the center of the kitchen and attempted to clear my mind. Take out of the clutter that had been filling it. No more pretty Mr. DeWitt. No more family responsibilities. No more cleaning. No more scrubbing. No more cooking.

I would find myself somewhere that would fit me like a glove.

When I opened my eyes, I saw it.

Endless fields of green grass with yellow daisies sprouting from the soil. It was down on the earth and nowhere near the sky. You could see the sun in the horizon, and it was much further than I was ever used to seeing it.

If I wanted, I could sprint forward into the field. My whole life would change. I wouldn't need to go back to the kitchen or to Columbia. I could leave the whole world behind and discover what this new world had in store for me. If I was lucky, maybe they would actually treat me like a human being and not like a pet.

For a whole minute I gazed out into the fields. Imagining what the breeze must feel like on the ground. How it would feel to run through the grass without a skyscraper or landmark in sight.

Again, I had waited too long, and my portal to a better life collapsed.

I was to live another day in the doldrums of Columbia.

And the saddest thing was, my deepest bond was now with a man I barely even knew. The only individual in my life I could still stand.  
Before I realized he was an asshole. But I suppose I'll have to save that for another time.

_**X-X-X-X-X**_

_**Author's Notes:  
I'm a wannabe writer in training, and I use fan-fiction as a means of 'playing with action figures'. Which sounds weird, but it's totally not in my mind.**_

_**When I'm writing my own work, I take it very seriously. I want the grammar to be just right. I want all of the sentences to flow like wine. It's a very grueling and time-consuming process.**_

_**When I write fan-fiction, I just write. I write and I write, and then I eventually stop and publish.**_

_**Because of this process, some stuff in this fic is going to be a bit rough. But besides that, I hope you all enjoy this crazy little Booker/Elizabeth story.**_

_**Please leave some honest feedback and reviews. I love em'! They're my favorite things in the whole gosh darned world. I am not kidding! So if you hate it, tell me. If you love it, tell me. If you're indifferent, definitely tell me. Leave some constructive criticism so that while I do my 'stream of consciousness' thing, I'm also working out my writing process.**_

_**Fabulous! See you in Chapter 2.**_


	2. Chapter 2

_Elizabeth, spunky lady_

For a whole day I worried that I had somehow scared the gorgeous man away. I had been a little more blunt with him than I had been with other men in the past, but that was to be expected from me. And I guess that's always the trouble.

If there was ever someone that I cared to talk to, I was always blunt. It was only with people that I didn't respect that I gracefully bowed out of confrontation. And that was most everyone.

Normal behavior around normal folks usually involved me standing around and not saying much of anything. So when an attractive man came into the place, of course I had to go straight out and make a fool of myself. Or rather, make a bitch of myself, which could be even worse. Worst case scenario he might have thought I was a feminist.

I probably was one. I know that I am now. I had read all about them in books that I then dutifully hid. May of the beliefs were considered more than a little radical, but I could still get behind the basis of it. That women should have the same rights as men.

Because we're human beings just like the rest of the world. Fancy that.

Even if I were to talk to other women about it, they would no doubt turn their nose up to the idea. And let us not even mention how your average man would take to the concept. Though they like to pretend that they treat their women with respect, in all actuality, they don't see them as much more than their average house pet.

There was a fear in me that maybe I had given this new acquaintance a bit of a shock. That he wouldn't soon be coming back for fear that I would bend over backwards for him. Not that I ever would. That's completely beside the point.

For the next couple of days, I went about not really saying much. And for that matter, I wasn't doing much. I kept hearing mumblings from my mother and father that the restaurant would likely be closing up soon. That we would all have to find some other line of work. And by that, they no doubt meant that we would all be doing the same work together.

This froze me. Irked me. And I hadn't been finding myself in the mood to keep up the same level of dedication to my work as I usually had. I had let the kitchen fall into disarray upon my watch, and why not? If we were going to lose the restaurant as quickly as I had overheard, then there was no point in me bothering. You didn't have to worry about repeat customers anymore. I could plant my index fingers firmly in my nostrils and it would not matter.

So for that whole day, I was basically free. And freedom meant boredom when you were stuck in the kitchen once again. There was a reason my parents had thrown it at me all of a sudden. They were taking what one might call a second honeymoon now that the business was about to go under. Lord knows how they could afford it, but I had my suspicions that there was a lot of things that they didn't tell me.

Maybe they had some sort of chest underneath their bed. They put all of their profits in there, waited for the business to go under, and spent it all in one go. At this point in my life, not a whole lot of things would surprise me.

Finally, once the lonely evening had come around, I found a reason to start caring again.

"Hello again, rebel."

I straightened my back, wishing to look as presentable as possible despite taking several impromptu naps throughout the day. "Hello mister… for the life of me I can't remember." I could. But that might have made me seem a little too eager. I didn't want that.

"Booker DeWitt, Elizabeth." He took a seat. "The usual."

Ahhh yes, the usual. I could whip that up in my sleep without so much as breaking a sweat. Much like the last time that he had visited, I made sure to throw in some extra things in the mix to keep him on his toes. With any luck, his throat would be on fire this time.

As I took my time gathering all of the ingredients, he was peering over at me like a lost puppy. And not just any puppy. He was like a puppy that had been left out in the rain and had been kicked a few times.

I must confess that I'm not the best judge of people. I don't really know enough about the signs in social conversation to make ups and downs, but it looked like he was in a lot of pain. Not the physical, because it wasn't like he had any bruises to show for it. But the kind of pain that festers on the inside.

If I were a person who understood what it felt like, I would say that it would devour your soul until there was nothing left but an empty husk.

Not that I had any idea. No sir.

Still, the attention wasn't bad, though I did feel a bit undeserving. If it wouldn't have been too forward, I would have just gone ahead and gave him a good scratch behind the ear for good measure.

The best I could do right now is give him his soup. And because my bottom wasn't listening to my brain, I took a seat next to him. "It's a little different from last time."

He dipped his spoon in the soup, stirring it slowly. "At least it has steam coming off the top of it. It's typically luke warm."

"Well, when you're one of the only customers left, you get special treatment."

He took a sip and swallowed. His face turned beet red, like he was evolving into a fire breathing dragon. "It-It's good."

"Spicy?"

"Yeah."

"I'll go get some water."

"Please do." A little gasping sound came from his throat. It isn't particularly ladylike to admit it, but I found it adorable.

We passed the rest of the evening making small talk. For the life of me, I can't remember most of what we had said. I'm sure that most of it concerned the weather and local politics, with veiled flirtations for good measure. I wasn't really up to the level of Booker, and to this day I'm still not.

He claims that he doesn't really much care for the women who flutter at his every whim, but I would say the opposite. I think he gets more out of it than he may have realized. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been as good at torturing me as he did.

"Well well well," Booker looked down to find his bowl empty. I went to the kitchen to get him another one. "I'll be alright. I should get off my ass and back to work."

"Don't work too hard. You could lose your ass." That was the most clever thing that I could say. The best goodbye that my little brain could conjur. "Come again." My voice was as steely as I could make it. If there was anything that I had learned how to do, it was keep what I was feeling on the inside in check. Because otherwise, I probably would have done a lot of stupid things I would have regretted.

But I didn't have to. Because instead, Mr. Dewitt did it for me.

Before he left, I felt a pair of chapped lips against my right cheek.

And then he left.

And I was left to think about it for a while. It was the sort of thing that said a lot more than words, and yet it was so simple. It was a direct expression of attraction.

He could have just left silently like last time. He could have just paid for his food and left without another word.

But he didn't. He kissed me.

After that, I most certainly wasn't going to work. I had a private backroom all to myself, and more stimulation than a backlog of dirty romance novels.

...I did that saying too much thing again. Oh well. It's not like anyone is going to read this anyways. I could say anything I wanted to and no one is going to care.

… God damn it! Shit! Horeshit!

This could be fun if I just relaxed a bit. Writing makes my back feel stiff, and when you have Booker DeWitt breathing down your neck as you scribble notes, it isn't a pleasant process.

Maybe I should let out another one for good measure…

SHIT!

_B-B-B-B-B_  
_Booker Dewitt, the devilish of all devils_

I didn't know why I did it. She was just sitting there all on her lonesome and I was sitting at the same table. So what else could I do? It wasn't like I wanted to leave her there, but there was still a lot of work to do at the gun shop.

I just had to find a way to say that I was going to be back without saying it straight out. Some sort of token of appreciation to tell her that she's pretty and worth something. Because I knew what that felt like.

As I returned back into the shop, I was reminded of how similar our positions were. Though we had customers who came by every so often, and each firearm netted quite a profit by itself, there were still many hours of tedium. There was a lot of time where I just studied new weapons of death and wondered which crazy customer was planning to fire it into a crowd of people.

I understood the need to bare firearms. The fact that it was an important right of the people and it was there so they could defend themselves. But then there was a part of me that wondered how many lives could be saved if we could see the future and deny someone a rifle. Or a shotgun.

To be honest, I didn't much know the technical terms for the weapons. That was more my father's department. He would lecture me on all of the different parts and their functions on frequent occasions, but it would pass into one ear and out of the other.  
"The most important thing is that you show off the gun," my father said. For future reference, his name was Frederick. Not as exciting as a name like Booker, but he always fancied having a scholar for a son. Didn't end up happening. "People who are shopping for these things already know what they want. You show it off, make it look nice, and the first thing they see which matches their needs they'll snatch. If they ask for anything too technical, you just lead em' on over to me. The technical man."

Tonight we were having a 'Patriotic Sale'. For what reason we were having this sale, I had no clue. I was beginning to think that it had something to do with the surplus amount of guns we had left in the store. We always seemed like we had far more guns than we were making in sales.

We had a few customers drop by, all of which felt it their duty to lecture me on how it was their duty to protect their family with their guns.

The most memorable gentleman looked as though he weighed about two-hundred and seventy pounds, and was a whole foot shorter than I. "A gun like this…" He had chosen to display the pistol in glamorous form, pointing it like a sword that would pierce through the heart of an invisible opponent. "…is not just a tool. It's a work of art."

"Right. Art." A bit of sarcasm had snuck through in my words, though I tried my best to keep composure.

"Someone who partakes in the continued preservation of these fine works should have a little more appreciation of their value." The light glinted off the side, and if I didn't know the objects purpose, I would also agree that it was beautiful. There was even an ivory coating that wrapped around the barrel. "With gunfire we had managed to fund this great city. With gunfire, we were able to create the original America." He reached for his wallet, already willing to pass with some fine coins in order to call it his own. "Which is the template for our Columbia today. Real patriotism. And real patriots bare arms."

This was the point where I would politely switch my mind off and take the money that was handed to me, though only a portion of it would be my own. The gentleman bid his goodbye with a slight nod of the head, a gesture which was in stark contrast to the death he now clutched.

It was at this point where I really stopped to have a long think. In the silence of the moment, I had come to the conclusion that the people of Columbia couldn't all be bad. Just ignorant. Maybe the man who loved bullets more than his own wife actually had a good soul, but was raised in the wrong place.

But if this were a truth, what made me the way that I was. I was raised in Columbia underneath the roof of a firearm dealer. So what made me any different than the average Columbian?

Then a father and son entered the shop, both looking torn down from age. They told me that they only intended to browse, but they certainly spent enough time carousing. If I were feeling a little less lazy, I would have swept them onto the street for loitering.

"You still shouldn't have done it, pop." The man whose hair wasn't entirely greyed out nudged his father. "She would have been good for at least a few more rolls in the hey."

"She was my property. And I do with my property as I see fit by me. The owner." He bemoaned as he looked at one of our most expensive rifles. "She'll be good in another couple of days. The third time will be the charm, lad."

"She likely won't survive another round," the son whispered.

"If that's the case," he caressed one of our shotguns with the tip of his fingernail. "I suppose it's out with the old and in with the new."

The son snickered, his prior concerns seeming to have slipped away. "A thin one this time, pop. You know how I like em'."

Something snapped. Something in my mind had broken off and all of the rage and frustration that I had ever felt came roaring forward like a cannonball. "I'm leaving!" I could scarcely believe that the words were my own, or that my feet were actually heading towards the door.

"Leaving? Leaving?! We have to keep things ope-" The outraged voice from the shop couldn't reach me by the time I had slammed the door. And then I began to sprint off at a run. Right back to the one place where I wouldn't have to deal with all of the nonsense. All of the hypocrisy for the sake of a few coins.

I vowed to myself right at that moment that I wasn't going to back to it. That I didn't need to lie to myself anymore.

There was only one place that I wanted to be right now. And I wasn't intending to leave her side so abruptly again.

E-E-E-E-E

_Elizabeth, the true hero of this story_

There's a story I haven't told anyone before. It isn't really much. Just a bit of notes. Nothing more than an outline really.

I kept it secret from everyone. I'm not a novelist, as I said before. That is more Booker's department. I know for a fact that it was a terrible idea, and to this day it is still a terrible idea.

I don't have the notes anymore, but I would like to recreate here. I don't know.

Booker said that it would help you understand me better, and that thematically it offset the adventure we were soon to have. Or something of that like.

Anyways, in the story there was only one place that the main character found herself. It was a cliff overseeing the whole of the world. If one were to just stay on this grassy cliff for a while they would think it was beautiful and they would want to stay there forever.

But the truth is, it's a terrible place. Because down below all you can see are all of the people of the world going about their business. And the truth is, since you are up on the cliff, you can't truly become one of them. Unless you were to take a leap of faith and attempt to scale down the cliff, you'll never know.

If the girl were to climb down the cliff, she would be greeted with a harsh reality. Either she would trip on the way down and meet a painful end as she tumbled down the cliff, or she would find herself at the bottom with no way back up.

I think the girl was me. Always afraid that if she moved away from what she considered to be her realm, there would be no going back. She would be forever trapped, potentially with company far worse than she could ever happen. Because while people can look beautiful and good-natured from a distance, they can be very different up close and personal.

I have a lot of outlines like this. A whole lot of stories that have gone untold. There is that part of myself that knows that I'm not much of a communicator and those stories are probably left buried. I wouldn't want to embarrass myself with ugly or blasphemous tales.

I can say something about my own personal growth, I am no longer the girl on the cliff. I took the plunge.

I'm still not sure if it was worth the cost.

Anyways, didn't mean to stall the tale with my introspection. Where were we?

Oh right. The private room and the stimulation bit. We can just skip right over that, shall we?

The front door squealed open. It was the same man as before. But something was very different about him. Maybe it was that his temperament was as low as his eyes were cast.

He just took a seat, without saying another word. If he waved hello, it must have been so subtle as to completely pass me by.

But he was still a customer. And a potential love interest. The best combination I could think of.

"I uhhh-" I clearly didn't know how to break the ice as I tapped my fingers against the counter. "I have some left over soup if you want. It isn't-"

"That would be great." He attempted to smile, but it didn't come across well. It was like someone had attached strings to his lips and yanked skyward. "Thank you." His face fell as soon as his gaze came back to the table.

I went to the soup. I let it simmer, otherwise it would have turned his throat into an ice rink. "Didn't want to kiss and run, huh?" I blushed. I said it. Why did I say that? That wasn't the way to start a conversation when a man comes to you looking like life had kicked him in the shins.

"I wish it was that romantic," he grumbled as he finally bothered to look up at him. "But I guess that's part of it."

He chose his words about as wisely as I did. Alright, I could play his little game too. I attempted to strike the sexiest hands on hip pose that I could muster, but I had no doubt I probably looked like a skeleton hanging from a cadaver. "It could be kind of romantic," instead of sounding seductive I probably sounded like a mouse caught in a trap.

"Have you ever run away?" He wasn't even looking. But that was no problem. Sparred me some embarrassment. "I am at this point where I don't know what I want to do. So that's what I did. I just ran away."

I knew how that felt. If there wasn't anything to tie me down I wouldn't even be here anymore. I would have rather been anywhere but here if I didn't feel as though I owed my family something. That my life didn't amount to much outside of where I currently stood.

So what else could I do for this grieving young man? The best that I could was to comfort. "I've always wished that I could run away," I answered honestly. "Change my name or something. Become a different person. But…" I poured some of the soup into a bowl, not bothering to test it. "…I'm beginning to think that no matter how far I run away, there is no escaping from myself." I placed the bowl in front of him, hoping that it would perk his spirits up.

It didn't. He just began eating as I studied him.

What could possibly be wrong with him, I thought to myself. He had everything that he could have ever wanted. I would have traded anything to be a man and in a position of respect. He might not have been rich, but at least he had enough money that he had never had to spare a single thought to being on the street.

In my eyes, the worst thing that he would ever have to experience was boredom. Which, in comparison to my current circumstance, was not so bad.

I was poor and bored.

He finally broke the silence. "With you." He stopped and stuffed a spoon in his mouth. After he swallowed down a mouthful of subpar soup, he bit his lip. "With you I feel like I should be honest. And nothing but honest. And if I were to ever say a lie, then this is completely pointless."

"Okay." This was weird. Not only because I feel that a well placed lie is necessary in all human communications, but because suddenly I wasn't the one acting like a blubbering psychotic. Clearly Mr. DeWitt had his own moments of over emotional melodrama. "Honest away."

"I went to work. And I intended to work hard." He said this with a certain degree of pride. I guess all of his charm couldn't be lost, even when he looked on the verge of eating a bullet. "I… intended to work my ass off. Work until I didn't really have to think of much of anything. Because when I'm not thinking, that is usually when I'm the happiest. When I stop to think about things, I get like this."

"Like a teenage girl?"

He laughed. Thank God for that. Otherwise things could have turned awkward very quickly.

"I'm probably more of a girl than you are."

"Wouldn't doubt it, the way you're yammering." I went to get myself some soup. I hadn't really eaten until earlier that morning, and I won't deny that it was probably playing with my judgment when it came to word choices. "I mean, what does a guy like you have to complain about? If you really wanted to, you could create an enterprise all of your own. Mister White Man. Mister Priveleged."

"I didn't come here to get a lecture, alright?"

If anything, I should have been patting him on the back and batting my eyelashes. There was a large part of me that wanted to do that. To turn off all sense of self-respect that I had and just throw myself at him.

But as was usual for me, the fiery loud-mouthed side came boiling outwards. "Right." I walked over to the other side of the table, taking a chair that was on the left side of his own.

I gave him a kiss on the cheek. "There. Now we're equal." And then I gave him another one for good measure.

Maybe the eyelash batting side had more of a control over me than I had previously led on. It wasn't everyday that I felt like doing such flirtatious behavior with anyone. It was truly a rare occurrence.

But he turned his head towards me, and he smiled with a warmth that sent a chill from the tip of my head down to the toes of my feet. "Do you ever feel like getting away?" He asked the question innocently enough, though I wasn't quite sure that it wasn't a proposition of some kind. Crazier things had happened to me. "Like, from this."

I groaned. "Didn't we already have this discussion?"

"No, I mean right now. You and me. We get off of this place together. And if you want, when we get off of Columbia, we go our separate ways."

I raised an eyebrow at this nonsense. The idea of getting away from Columbia was not new to me. I don't think it would be new to anyone who was in my position. But the talk he was bringing to the table was just that. Talk.

"And do you propose we do that?" I asked him. "Jump off the side of the city? You know immigrating to another country after having lived here is..." I shook my head. The outside world didn't really take too kindly to Columbians, and Columbians didn't take too kindly to the outside world. It was common knowledge. "…it's almost suicidal. It would be bad for the both of us."

"Okay," he spread his hands across the table, relishing in his little fantasy. I didn't particularly care that I was being made out to be a prize he was going to run away with, but it wasn't a horrific notion either. Being in the company of a dashing young man while on a crazy adventure beat cleaning. "Then what do you say about just hiding out? We leave. Go to a different section of the city and find occupations there."

"Oh? You want to make weapons for Fink then?" Fink was a weapons and tech guy. I've heard his name in passing and in newspapers. Though he's not important to this story.

He's not really important to anyone anymore.

"There are plenty of other venue-"

"You're not an entrepenuer, Mr. DeWitt. Even if I wanted to be, I could never be one either."

"What I'm saying is that there are-"

"What? Chances of working for monopolies that have already taken up power? I can't imagine your father would be too proud if you suddenly opened up DeWitt Enterprises from his under his nose."

"It's complicated, but-"  
I talked faster than I should, but only because I knew that there was only one real way to get out. The way that I had been afraid of doing for years.

DeWitt was just playing, I could see it in the way he swaggered about the conversation. But if there was a chance that he truly wanted to disappear from Columbia, I had to take the chance.

I was going to have to tell someone someday anyways. Now was as good of a time as ever.

"-we could make it. I would find for work for you, and we would-"

Closing my eyes, I conjured a portal right in the center of the table. Within the portal was a world that I had never seen before, though I had read about it in books. It was the top of the Eiffel Tower overlooking Paris.

I laughed as Booker looked as though he had jumped straight out of his skin. The expression on his face was priceless. It was like I had shot his dog right in front of him. If he had a dog, of course. Which he didn't.

He went from shock to realization like a turn of a coin. Backing away from the portal, he gaped inside. "What the hell-"

"There's a lot about me that you don't know," I spoke nonchalantly. On the inside, I was screaming. "Since I was a little girl I was able to open up portals like these. I've seen many different worlds. But I never bothered to travel to any of them. I was always too scared. Too terrified of what the consequences may be." I walked behind him, taking measures in case he decided to bolt out the door. "If you were serious before about wanting to leave… this is your chance."

B-B-B-B-B  
_Booker DeWitt, scared witless_

What the hell? What the hell? What the hell? What the hell? What the hell? What the hell?

That's all I could think as I looked upon my very first tear in the space time continuum. It was like I had suddenly stumbled into a Jules Verne story and I had taken the place of the protagonist.

Fear took me as I looked from the girl I had previously been attempting to court, and the portal she had managed to create out of thin air. I had heard a lot about witches before and the sorts of games that they would play, but I never thought I would ever run into a real life equivalence to those old tales. I always thought that they were myths and fantasies designed to keep young boys from getting into trouble.

But even as my hands shook, I knew I had been looking for this trouble from the very beginning. Something miraculous had just occurred right before my eyes. What before seemed like an ordinary girl had transformed into a creature of limitless potential and power.

Whether she was friend or foe, much like in those stories, could not be seen.

"What is that?" Pointing to the aberration, I was hoping somehow that she would explain it away in a means that was less earth-shattering. That she was pulling some sort of elaborate prank with lights and projections.

But I had never seen even the greatest of technological wizardy conjur up an illusion like that.

"I like to see it as an opportunity," she smiled. It was wide and toothy, almost like that of a predator. "It is terrible to go somewhere new without an escort. For years I've always wanted to do this. Kept on trying and failing. But now that you're here… well…" She tapped me on the shoulder. "… you can go first."

"Wait wait, hold on!" It was all just too much for one man to take. A dangerous passageway to another place. A magical girl who know appeared more like a genie in a bottle than the helper in a family run restaurant. Life or death consequences if it all failed to work out. "It's your magic fairy portal, why don't you hop through first?"

She rolled her eyes, seeming to be bowled over by the sheer stupidity of my question. Which was the farthest thing from idiotic. It was pure logic.

"Fine!" She waved her arms over her head. She stood near the front of the portal, seeming to gaze it down. "I can't guarantee that the portal will be open when I'm on the other side." I was willing to take that risk.

Something must have clicked in place her mind. There was a face of sheer determination which I had never seen another woman before. It was as though her entire life had been leading up to this moment, and I was lucky enough to be a witness in such an astronomically alarming event.

And that was when everything clicked into place for me as well.

It's strange to talk about it here. Because after only a minute, I was committed to go on some sort of strange voyage with a girl I knew nothing about. On the other side of the portal could have been anything. I could have leap through and found my molecules had completely disintegrated and I had lost all sense of myself entirely. I could have leapt into the portal only to find that it was a cruel trick, and I would find myself trapped in a harsh new world while she found another man to con into her little games.

But something inside of me was spurred into action. I took Elizabeth's right hand firmly into my own and ran as fast as I could towards the opening.

She did not lag behind, but rather kept up with my pace and then some, as we both took the plunge together.

A strange feeling washed over me. It was what I would imagine being squashed by an elephant would feel like. An elephant with a giant icepack strapped to his foot. There was a sharp chill and sudden pressure as I came near the portal's opening.

Then, right before my very eyes, the world was sucked into the opening with us in it.

Then I realized we had killed Columbia.

X-X-X-X-X

_**Author's Notes:**_

_**Thank you to Ryan PM for leaving such inspiring feedback. I was hoping that the Elizabeth/Booker first-person perspectives worked within the context of the story, and I'm glad that you enjoyed the writing style of each.  
I've actually gotten quite a little readership going so far. Four favorites?! That makes me very happy indeed! I'd like to thank you all of you guys and gals for giving this story a shot. Remember, all feedback is appreciated no matter how negative. I would like to hear as many honest reviews and thoughts as I can (it helps the writing process along).  
Next chapter, if there's anymore reviews, I'm going to go ahead and start a little response section at the end of each chapter. It sounds like a fun idea! So if you have any questions or are confused by any of the elements in the story thus far, just let me know. If you ask sneakily enough, I might even give little snippets of information about where the story is going.  
Thanks again! I'm having a blast so far, and I hope you guys and gals are too!**_


	3. Chapter 3

_Elizabeth, channeling the spirit of adventure_

You know, it's a strange thing. When you're traveling through space and time, but you're so scared that you keep your eyes closed. You keep them closed so tight that you don't have to see if you made a mistake.

You've already read the previous chapter, right? How Booker saw all of Columbia get sucked into the portal with us? Well, I was fortunate enough not to witness that. Because if I had, well… the scene once I got to Paris would have been very different.

But once I reached the either side of the portal, I felt cold metal against the side of my face. But it wasn't as though I had been struck. Oh no. The landing was almost as if I had landed on a particularly nice feather mattress. Which is strange, considering that we were on the top of the Eiffel Tower.

Or at least what I assumed was the Eiffel Tower. That's a long story too. I'll get to it.

But I didn't open my eyes just yet. I was still afraid that if I did open them, that I would find myself in a furnace. Or I would discover that I opened a magical portal straight to the gates of hell. That one would have been the worst.

Even though I didn't believe in hell… the place was still terrifying to think about. All the fire and brimstone gets to me when I think about it.

The air that blew through my hair was chilly, but considering how high up we were that was to be expected. It felt as though we had landed in the middle of Spring. Not cold enough to make snow angels, but not warm enough to go swimming naked in a stream either.

I took a deep breath in and a deep breath out. Then again. Then one final time for good measure.

Then I opened my eyes.

We were in Paris, that much was for certain. And we were on top of the Eiffel Tower. There was no denying it now. And when I looked behind me, there was no longer a portal. Only Booker, lying on the metal walkway as though he had too much to drink.

I went over to check his pulse.

'Please don't be dead', I thought to myself. 'Please don't be dead. Please don't be dead'.

Of course, he wasn't. I don't think that comes as much of a surprise to anyone. He is writing the book.  
I think the reason I assumed he might be was that one of my major dreams had suddenly come true. I was in another world. I was in another world and I was still alive. Even if Paris didn't end up being all that I read it was, it was still better than where I was at.

And I was still waiting for that other shoe to drop. That moment where I realized I had made a horrible mistake and that fiddling with my powers had somehow ruined everything.

But there was no sign of that yet. Booker was alive, though unconscious, and we were both in Paris!

I left Booker where he was and peered over the edge of the railing.

I don't know how to even put into words the visual onslaught that was Paris. It was absolutely nothing like I had imagined it would be. In fact, it was so much more impressive that I could hardly believe my luck.

Below me were automobiles made with such impressive colored metals that they looked like rolling pieces of art. You see, I had heard of automobiles before and had seen pictures of them, but nothing like this. The automobiles below me seemed as though they were driving themselves. With such precision, might I add, that it was astonishing!

And the buildings. They were nothing like what I had seen before in Columbia. Not to say that the architecture at home was anything to scoff at, but there was a certain simplicity to the buildings in Paris that warmed my heart.

But the floating structures surrounding those buildings, those were another story.

All around the streets were large transparent signs that seemed to float in the middle of the air. I pondered these for a great long while, wondering how such a thing could possibly exist. After all, everything has to be attached to something. And they didn't look like any kind of projection.

One in particular caught my attention. It featured a man, a real honest to God living breathing man, chopping up a fish and serving it to a customer. I assumed that this was some sort of promotion for a restaurant, but how they had managed to make the characters on the sign move so realistically baffled me.

It couldn't be possible. Not in Columbia. Not anywhere in the world.

Then it struck me.

This wasn't Paris. Or at least not the Paris I had read about.

This was somewhere else entirely.

I heard Booker groan behind me, and I hurried to his side. "Booker. Booker!" His eyes blinked open, and I pecked him on the forehead.

You know, for good luck. Don't judge me.

"We're in Paris!" I couldn't contain my enthusiasm. "But not Paris. More like a Jules Verne Paris."

"Nnnh," Booker groaned. He still seemed a little out of it. I mean, I couldn't say that I could blame him. Not after, you know, kowing everything that he had seen. "I think I hit my head…"

"I didn't see it hit anything," I replied earnestly. "You were just sort of laying here passed out… but look!" I pointed up to the stars. "Don't they look gorgeous!"

"Oh god, Elizabeth, lis-" I put a finger to his lips, not wanting to hear him talk at the moment. He seemed as though he was in a ruining the moment kind of mood. "We can talk later." I gestured outwards, like I had suddenly been elected the Queen of France. "Just look. Can you believe it?!" 

B-B-B-B-B  
_Booker DeWitt, convinced he is a murderer_

It was easy enough for her to enjoy the sights. I couldn't believe that she was able to take everything so lightly. It infuriated me.

The entire world gets destroyed, and a peck on the forehead is supposed to make that all better. Who the hell did she think she was?

She didn't even seem the least bit disturbed. In fact, she was just happy that she had found herself in France. Which would be fine, if it didn't come at the cost of Columbia.

I knew that I was jumping to conclusions with that analysis. But I just suddenly had this nagging feeling. Like I had committed some sort of ultimate sin, and there was no redeeming it. No way of looking up to the heavens and saying that you were sorry.

I didn't even believe in that nonsense. But maybe if I did, this wouldn't have happened.

I was suspecting that I might be a murderer. An indirect one perhaps, but even the direct ones usually only have a few victims before they're found out. If she had done what I thought she had done, then there were thousands of lives we could be responsible for. Maybe even millions.

"Did you see it?" There was no point in becoming rash too quickly. I would handle the girl with as much class as I possibly could. Even if she was a witch, there was no point in lighting torches just yet.

She turned to me. The lights of Paris did wonders to her face. She almost looked like a different girl. "See what?" She was still smiling. Charming to the last, but there was a possibility that she was playing dumb.

"Columbia!" My voice raised more than I meant it to. "I saw Columbia get sucked into your… thing! I saw the whole thing just…"

I tried to get a hold of myself. This wasn't going to work. I knew for a fact that Elizabeth wouldn't intentionally do something that vile. To accuse her of such made my consciousness feel much better, but it wasn't the right thing to do at the time.

How did I know that she didn't intentionally destroy Columbia? Because, if she had that sort of power and wanted to do it, she probably would have done it well before I showed up.

With that piece of logic in mind, I found some composure.

Elizabeth looked confused, holding the railing with white knuckles. I'm not an expert at reading women, but the way her gaze averted downwards made me assume that I had stuck a metaphorical dagger into her heart. "I… I closed my eyes because I was afraid," she said with a cool tone. I was beginning to realize that she was excellent at guarding her voice. "I was afraid to open them, okay?"

It is easy to judge me at this point in time, having seen both sides of the story. Even though I had a fondness for Elizabeth, and I knew for a fact that she had no malicious intent, I was not sure that I could trust her. At least not fully. In one sense, I was indebted to her for bringing me with her. She meant well by her actions.

But, there was also the possibility that millions of lives rested firmly on my shoulders. By encouraging her to move forward, I had doomed everyone.

I couldn't forgive myself for that, no matter what the justification.

Elizabeth closed her eyes tightly. I assumed that she was fighting back tears, which was a foolish masculine assumption to make.

A few seconds later, her eyes opened with that same fierce intensity I had come to know from the restaurant. She then closed them, only to open them once again. "Elizabeth?"

"I'm trying to open a portal and show you Columbia. Show you that it's safe." This pattern of opening and closing eyes went on for about a minute, until finally she kicked the railing in frustration. "Goddamit!" Harsh language for anyone, let alone a woman.

"You can't do it?" The fact that she even attempted was reassuring, but the implications were horrifying. "You mean we're stuck here?!" The anger came rushing back.

I should have suspected as much. There were risks attached to our venture. But you don't think of such things when you're panicked, because panic kills every brain cell you have.

She shook her head violently, kicking the railing again. "Maybe…" She kicked a third time, but this one was softer. Almost a love tap compared to the prior more violent swings. "… maybe it takes time to recharge. But Booker," she looked over at me. Such emotions in her eyes. It was spell-binding. "I'm sure it's okay. I… I'm not capable of that, alright?! I'm sure that what you saw was just a…" She waved her hands wildly. "… some sort of strange travel thing!"

Then there was silence. She looked out over Paris, giving a loud audible huff as she turned from me. "There is no way I have that much power. No way…

There was conviction in her words, but I didn't believe her.

I believed she had more power than she knew. 

E-E-E-E-E  
_Elizabeth, the great and powerful_

SHIT!

That was my inner voice hollering. That's all I could think as I gawked at Paris, trying my hardest not to kick Booker in the shins.

Oh, he hid it well. He hid it the best he could, but he was disgusted with me. To this day, I know that he underplays what he felt that night on the Eiffel Tower.

He hated me. With every fiber of his being, he must have hated me.

For all of my life, I knew there were other worlds. I saw them all the time. I saw windows to all sorts of strange and bizarre places. I knew that the power to see those places came from inside of me. I knew it. I've always known it.

I never once thought that I was capable of killing that many people because of my power. It wasn't possible. It couldn't be.

SHIT SHIT SHIT!

"I know I didn't do it, Booker! Alright?!" I wasn't really screaming it at him, but more at the city itself. The thing that tempted me with its pretty lights. "I would never do something like that. Ever! At least not on purpose…" Maybe that wasn't the best thing to say. "My powers will come back. They will! Until then, we're both stuck here. And I would…"

I turned to him. Even if he was angry, even if he hated me with every fiber of his being, I still loved the way he looked. Maybe I didn't love the person quite yet. I hardly knew the person. But I loved the idea of company. I loved the idea of having a Booker. It seemed like a handy thing to have in a strange country. "I would hate to be stuck with someone who hated me."

I saw him warm up a little bit. I wasn't relaxed, but I was trying my very best to fake it.

"Alright."

That's all he said. Alright.

There was so much more he could have said. I knew there was a thousand thoughts and accusations he could have launched. Confessions of guilt and professions of anger. But no. He just said alright. That was it.

Do all men act like that?

…Why am I asking you? You can't talk back…

So together, both of us trying our best to cover our wounds, we walked to the other side of the platform. Paris could be quite dizzying if looked straight down. The lights didn't seem quite as alluring anymore. Because of Booker, they were now filled with a feeling of foreboding.

On the other side, we found some sort of egg-shaped pod. It was the same brown rusted metal color as the rest of the tower, but the inside was covered with a red velvet interior. But there were no seats.

It was odd looking, to say the very least. But thankfully, it looked as though it could fit two people.

"Looks like an elevator," I said as I walked inside.

He didn't come in. I'm not sure if he was reluctant or angry. Now I would assume both.

This was my first view of the 'asshole'. Take note, dear reader. The asshole becomes a major player in this story.

"You're going to freeze to death if you keep standing there." He wouldn't. It wasn't that cold. I was just trying to make conversation, even if it was a little venomous.

It was like talking to a brick wall. He looked the pod up and down from the outside, as though inspecting if any sharp metal spikes could pierce the interior. "Booker, it's between getting in the elevator with me or-"

At that very moment, I was zapped. Not the deadly zap that kills you, but the one that transports you from one place to another.

I was at the very base of the tower now. The street was just a few steps away from me.

I was so startled by the sudden change in scenery, that I immediately ran out of the pod and surveyed my surroundings.

There were people. Actually, quite a few people. People who were wearing outfits that were almost as glossy and impressive as the exteriors of their vehicles.

To me, it looked as though they had dressed themselves in candy. It would be quite disconcerting, if I wasn't already dazzled by my first experience with a futuristic telepod.

And it wasn't my last, I can assure you.

As soon as I grabbed a little composure, I started to notice that I stuck out like a sore thumb. The people around me gawked as though I were some sort of freak. Which, in a way, I sort of was.

"Uhhh…" Eloquence is my middle name. "Hello?"

If I was down at the bottom, and Booker was at the top of the tower, I figured that I would just have to wait for him. I sat on a nearby bench, which thankfully was just a dull boring brown bench and not a 'bench of the future'.

And there I waited for Booker, tapping my foot with impatience.

I half thought about leaving before he got brave enough to come down. I could just go off on my own. None of these people seemed as though they cared what I did.

They just seemed interested. And there was nothing wrong with that. Maybe in this world I was some kind of stunner. The very definition of feminie beauty. I could probably have a whole legion of charming Frenchmen in toe by the time the evening was out.

But, of course, because my heart was a fickle thing, I waited for him.

I had something in mind for Mister DeWitt. Something devious. 

B-B-B-B-B  
_Booker, worry wart_

There were a couple of explanations for what I had just seen, but none of them were logical.

The first thing I thought was that Elizabeth had just been killed right before my eyes. The pod was some sort of oversized mousetrap, and Elizabeth was foolish enough to go standing in a strange contraption she didn't understand. I scratched this one off after a few minutes of thought, figuring that the citizens of France would not place a deathtrap on the top of their most important landmark. It just didn't make any sense.

The second thing I thought was that Elizabeth had just used a magic spell that she hadn't told me about before. It was possible. She did open a magic door to Paris. Clearly she was capable of doing just about anything. I scratched this one when I thought about the fact that casting a spell while giving me a lecture seemed silly. Surely, she would have cast it after she was done yelling at me.

The third and final theory was the one I figured was most likely correct. That the pod was some sort of transportation compartment, and Elizabeth had been transported to somewhere else. The only problem with this theory was that it seemed a little whimsical. Even in Columbia, a place of scientific discovery and technological advancements, they had yet to even scratch the surface of such a technology. Would such a thing really exist in Paris, France?

That girl. What was wrong with me? I was angry with her. Truly I was. But somehow, it was different.

As I stepped into the pod, I cringed. I didn't want to admit it. Not in my life. Especially not after seeing what might have happened to Columbia, my home.

But I was falling in love with her. And the very thought tipped my anger over the edge.

That girl. That damn girl!

She wasn't a seductress. She didn't have the look for it. But how do I explain the way that the lights of Paris hit her face? Moments where, if I wasn't so ridden with guilt, would have caused my heart to skip beats?

She didn't have any wiles. But she did know how to say a righteous name in vain, and there was something oddly attractive about that.

Within a blink of an eye, I saw her. She was sitting on a park bench, looking lost in thought. Again, the lights were hitting her just the right way. Damn those lights. They weren't doing my any favors.

Right then, I went in denial. I convinced myself that, until there was evidence to convince me otherwise, Columbia didn't get destroyed. I would pretend as though I saw nothing, and that somewhere in the universe, Columbia was just as it had always been.

It wasn't easy. But in the whole of the universe, I doubted I would find another woman quite as fiery. No one had that look in their eyes except for her.

And I knew for a fact that I would never find more charming company, even if she did accidentally destroy a portion of the known universe.

I was still angry, and I don't think anything was going to stop that.

But my heart also knew what it wanted. And no matter, I couldn't shut the damn thing up.

I blame Paris and the lights. Damn them both. 

E-E-E-E-E  
_Elizabeth, who is just about to be very happy_

I intended to skewer him with my eyes. Not physically, but emotionally. If romance novels were to be believed, cold eyes are the greatest asset that a young woman can possess. So I gave him the coldest stare I had ever channeled in all of history. The sort of stare that would have stopped an army.

"Hey there, asshole." A couple tittered when I said it. I didn't really expect them to understand English. So instead of throwing more obscenities his way, I simple chose to look the other way. I could hear him approaching. I pretended not to care.

I kept telling myself that I shouldn't give the asshole the satisfaction.

I wasn't expecting that he would be packing some eye language himself. His eyes, if you'll pardon the cliché, were smoldering like wood on a fire. And within seconds, those eyes were mere inches away from mine.

There were a lot of things that I was expecting to happen.

A hot kiss was not one of them.

Needless to say, it felt as though the air had been sucked straight out of my lungs. If memory recalls correctly, it was the first true kiss I had ever had. If you were to discount all of the times I practiced on my one and only pillow back home.

That practice all went out the window when the actual thing hit. I was caught completely off-guard, and my lips just started to move all on their own.

So, instead of skewering the asshole and showing him who was in charge, we kissed instead. Funny how life works sometimes.

But eventually we had to part lips, which was a shame. I could feel the air pass between the little space between our faces, and it felt colder than it really was.

"So, does that mean you forgive me?" I asked it cutely. To be honest, I wanted to just get right back to what we were doing.

"No."

God. That was the most horribly unemotional inconsiderate awful thing he could have said.

And somehow, that made it the most romantic thing I had ever heard.

So, I pushed his head forward with both of my hands and got right back into it. "I'm-" It was difficult to talk between kisses. I could have drowned in them. I could have drowned and I would have been happy about it. "-okay with that."

"So am I." Damn asshole. Goddamn asshole.

We would have kept on going if I didn't notice we were forming a sizeable crowd around us. Not only did we both stick out badly, but we were also putting on a free show. In a place we knew nothing about, it was perhaps best to continue our games when we were in a private venue.

And so, reluctantly, I pushed him away. "Uhh." I cleared my throat, putting a sizeable distance between me and him. "What do we do now?"

Before he could answer, a man walked up to us. "Booker DeWitt? Elizabeth Burrows?" Well, there it went. The mystery of my last name. Now I couldn't use it at the most opportune moment to express sympathy or trust. It was taken out of my hands.

The man, much like everyone around him, was wearing an outfit that looked more like taffy than fabric. It looked as though it were comfortable enough, but its bright red color and way of emphasizing the worst parts of the human body was a bit of an eye-sore.

At least by Columbian standards.

"How do you know our names?" Booker asked, a little edge in his voice.

"You're visitors from another dimension, correct. We keep tabs on your signatures. We've had other Bookers and Elizabeths come through here on occasion."

We both stared at him blankly. I didn't know what to say to this bald man wrapped in taffy. 'Other Elizabeths?' That was a rather peculiar notion. Were there other versions of me right now? Were they all friends and told each other stories about themselves?

How bizarre.

The man detached a flat book shaped object from off of his leg, tapping the front of it three times. "Clearly, there is a lot of explaining to do. But before you go wandering about anywhere, you need to go through customs."

Huh? Customs? For people from other dimensions?

"Don't worry," the man reassured. "I'm not here to hurt you." And with that, the object that I swore was some sort of book changed to a gun. Somehow, it was designed so that it fit perfectly within his fist. And it was aimed right at me. "We just need to know that you can't hurt us, Ms. Burroughs. Mr. DeWitt."

His voice hadn't changed timber as he made his threat, I could hear the gun humming in his hand, as a low blue glow came from its chamber.

"Booker, he has a gun…" I don't know what I wished to accomplish by saying this. Stating the obvious seemed to be a habit of mine.

"It will be painless." The man grinned. "Trust me."

I felt a sharp pain under my ribs.

Then everything went black. 

X-X-X-X-X

_**Author's Notes:**_

_**The second chapter garnered quite a larger readership. I'm proud that so many of you have voiced interest in this little story. It's quite exciting!**_

_**As promised last chapter, I'll begin a review response section. Because why not? Fun is fun.**_

_**Ryan PM: No no, I'm not a published author. At least not yet. But I am working on a novel at the moment that I'm hoping to have completed by the beginning of the Summer. It's nothing like what I write here on fan-fiction though. It's… actually polished. I spend a lot more time on my novel ideas. They're my real babies.  
**_  
_**I'm glad that you're enjoying the writing style so far. I'm not really a huge fan of writing in first-person but for this particular idea it was kind of a necessity.  
**_  
_**A teaser for you! (A new major female character will be introduced next chapter, an OC. And she's kinda awesome)**_

_**adamkd: Thank you for the constructive feedback! I'll admit that 'showing and not telling' is something I have a hard time grasping in first-person narratives. There's something about the nature of the writing that just makes me want to lay everything out on the table. But you're right. In the future, I think I could skim some internal monologues off the top. It's a good thing to keep in mind.  
**_  
_**I figured since it's an alternative universe, I might as well screw around with the character histories a bit. Pacifist Booker is so different from regular Booker that I couldn't help myself. Same goes for Elizabeth in some regards. She's a very different character than the game, but I'm hoping I still keep the spirit of Liz intact. Hopefully…  
**_  
_**I'm trying to take things in different directions than I think people usually do in Infinite fics. I would even dare say that I might get a little too crazy for some people's tastes later on. But thank you so much for your support! You're an awesome guy.  
**_  
_**More characters are coming! (Teaser: Also more hi-tech sci-fi stuff. Cause it's fun)**_

_**Mikayla Firebane: Was that soon enough? Thank you for the review and all of the support! Hopefully I'll be able to pump out more chapters at this same pace.  
**_  
_**Teaser Warning!: Next chapter will feature some head-spinning revelations. Stay tuned!**_

_**Again, thank you everyone! See you next week.**_


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